Living
by succedissidor
Summary: bad language. more percivally goodness. if by goodness one means angst.
1. home

Living  
  
Author's notes: This is an idea I've had in my head for a long time now, and after the new book I decided it was time to let it out to play. I will be writing more, regardless of whether I get reviews and with no concern for whether people like it or not. I will also be writing when I feel like it, and I solemnly swear not to update by any sort of reasonable schedule. (That said, anyone who takes the time to type this out and set it out here for you to read loves to know that other people are, indeed, reading it, so all reviews will be graciously accepted and read, and probably saved, even if they do consist mainly of "Who do u think u r? U sukkz!" So yes.) Per request, the text has been re-formatted. Oh, and I hereby disclaim these characters- they aren't mine and the odds are about a billion to one that they aren't yours either.  


__

*About the only thing one can do in times like these, he mused, was to adapt. That or die. So far, Percy had kept a pretty good record of not dying, so he figured, all in all, that what he had to do was simply go on living.* 

  
I don't know why I feel so tongue-tied  
  
Don't know why  
  
I feel  
  
So skinned alive  
~radiohead  
  
****home.****  
  
The sun finally made its way through the window and across the room to fall across Percy's eyes. Funny, he thought, how it always made such an effort to interrupt one's morning sulk. No matter how one slept, or where one's head was positioned in the morning, the ignorantly blissful sunshine managed to fall into one's eyes. Funny, also, how it never happened to hit the yellowed and withering geraniums one had planted in the flowerbox just outside the window. The poor things were rather terminally ill.  
  
Of course, Percy could sympathize. He rolled out of bed and padded quietly to the bathroom. Yes, he thought, staring dully into the mirror. Yes, I can indeed sympathize. He surveyed his face, leaning in closely to catch the details that were blurred any distorted without his glasses. His cheekbones stood out sharply above the hollows of his cheeks. They were accented even more by the deep purple half circles under his eyes, which contrasted rather fabulously with the unhealthy alabaster of his skin. He sighed, wishing vaguely that the freckles that graced most of his other brothers had decided to blot their way across his face too, but no such luck. Like his mother, sister, and oldest brother, he had that ridiculously flawless skin that redheads (at least, those who weren't walking connect- the-dots) were prone to. His hair, however, was not quite living up to family legacy. It fell limply across the top of his head, without even the decency to stick out in all directions as any self-respecting bed-head should. Still, the brilliant red was undeniable. He had toyed with the idea, not all that long ago, of charming it a different color, perhaps a nice, inconspicuous brown, but had quickly decided against it. After trying it at home, experimentally, his owl Hermes had flown right past him twice without recognizing him. In the hustle and bustle of the Ministry, he would be completely lost. Without his fiery hair no one would even know he was there.  
  
He stared himself down, directly into the eyes, as he picked up his toothbrush, but found that he was barely able to hold his own gaze. He really was positively one of the last people he wanted to confront just now. As he turned to exit the bathroom he clicked out the light and picked up a worn and fraying towel that may, in a previous life, have been blue. He carefully wiped his face before dropping the towel in a growing pile of laundry that would soon begin seriously demanding attention.  
  
He looked vacantly at the light switch by his bedroom door before deciding that the half light of the morning was enough to dress by. He'd gotten used to eclectricity much more quickly than he'd expected. His flat, a muggle flat, was all that had been available on such short notice. Still, it wasn't too bad. At least he could apparate and did not have to worry about connecting the aged fireplace, measuring about three feet by three feet, into the Floo network.  
  
In any event, the place was a bit bare for his liking. At home there had been a perpetual mess, peacefully co-existing with his mother's perpetual cleaning. The tidiest he could remember it being was in just the last year, when he'd lived there with only his father and mother. And then, before that, his dorm room had had a comfortable, lived in look that he could take absolutely no credit for. His side had always been pin-straight, but Oliver more than made up for that. He'd apologized quite a lot for the mess in the seven years they'd lived together, but Percy hadn't minded. Oliver must have known because he never put more than a half- hearted attempt into cleaning, despite all the apologies.  
  
Percy genuinely missed those days, but then, we all had to grow up sometime, didn't we? He sighed again. He ventured out of his bedroom into the adjoining room, looking for his shoes. He scanned the austere space. Under normal circumstances, he would have at least had a photo of his family in the sitting room. However, these were not normal circumstances and besides, the sitting room appeared to have melded with the kitchen, leaving him without proper room either to cook or to have decent furniture. (He supposed he was lucky enough to even have the tatty green sofa he'd found in a local secondhand shop, despite the fact that is clashed badly with the chipping pink paint that so festively adorned his walls.) Really, he didn't care. He only came here to sleep.  
  
He found his shoes where he had left them, sitting beside the entry door, and slid them on. Picking up his small briefcase, containing inestimably important papers, he stepped into the middle of the small room. Gathering up what was left of his strength and self control, for it was undoubtedly going to be a long and trying day, Percy pocketed his wand and took a deep breath.  
  
"Apparecio!"

~~~~  
So yeah. Hope everyone had a nice flight. Bye-bye! Buh-bye now! 


	2. sun

Living  
  
Author's notes: Here is Chapter 2. Hey, it's as much a surprise to me as it is to you. I apparently have too much free time in my accounting classes. So anyway. I actually know why I am writing this whole big thing, it is just so that I can do this one teeny little scene that I could full well do without an epic saga around it. But I feel this weird affiliation with Percy, so I figured he deserved all this. By the by, JK Rowling has not yet stumbled across this and decided that I, raukoiel, am a better writer than she, and should, therefore, own these characters. So I don't.  
  
If I get one ray of sunlight to hold in my hand, maybe we can be happy again.  
~Phantom Planet  
  
****sun.****  
  
Percy was two years old when Bill left for Hogwarts. Looking back, he supposed the clarity with which he remembered the day was odd, but then, it had been a highlight of his early childhood. It was a beautiful day, with the kind of cloudless sapphire sky that was so rare in their little corner of England. The leaves of the trees looked as though they'd been attacked by a particularly aesthete pyromaniac, and were proudly showing off their fiery colours. A gentle breeze was blowing, the birds were singing, and Lord Voldemort was in full power.  
  
Percy, being just a young child, did not understand the full scope of He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign. Weeks of fragile politics had worked out one day, the day students left for Hogwarts, in which there would be a sort of truce. After all, Death Eaters had children too, and despite a great dislike of both the headmaster and his policies they knew their children would be safer away from the war raging outside the school. Percy was oblivious to all of this. What he did understand was that, for the first time he could remember, he was being allowed outside during the day.  
  
The sky was different during the day. He had only ever seen it through the dingy windows of the safe-houses, the meek blue peering out from between the ever-present clouds. At night, which he'd been out in often enough, the darkness was menacing and fierce. The infinite expanse was bewildering to a mind which was accustomed to small, closed spaces. But now, with the sun hanging high above him, he felt free. He wished he could soar into it and never come back.  
  
Bill was leaving. It was not a fact he'd quite grasped yet, school, all he knew was that his brother must have done something quite good. His mother had bought him an enormous chest with buckles on, and robes specially made for him, and even a great large owl whom Bill had promptly dubbed Errol. And best of all- something Percy himself wished for every night- he'd got a brand new wand. That was something special, he thought, something that belonged only to you, no one could share. He didn't know yet that the enormity of his mother's belly meant that he would soon be sharing a great deal more.  
  
Bill picked him up in an enormous hug. "Bye, Perce." He was just beginning to show the first signs of nervousness, as he was leaving his home. Charlie scowled beside his mother, peeved that he was not only losing his best friend for several months, but also that the friend in question was going to Hogwarts and he would have to wait another year. Unlike Percy, he recognized the signs of impending siblings, and did not want to be around for it. Percy had been enough of a surprise to all of them.  
  
The whistle sounded. Bill finally boarded the train, after waiting until the last possible second, and twisted around to wave as it began moving. Molly had tears standing in her eyes, but she was sure her eldest would be safe under the watch of Dumbledore. Percy realized, quite suddenly, that Bill was not going home with them. Hogwarts, he knew, was supposed to be a wonderful place, with other children the same age, and where magic was taught. He was sorry to see him go, but he was also happy for him. One day, his mother had told him, he would go too, and he would do spectacularly, and maybe even be Head Boy. Percy filed all of that away for the future, but swore that if it would make his mum happy, he'd do it.  
  
You-Know-Who. Percy didn't, but he soon would. That day passed in eerie peace, but it would be the last for some time.  


~~~~

  
Aaaaannnddd, that's that. Stay tuned, kids, I just might write some more. PS- In case you didn't notice, I like commas. Sorry. 


	3. sorry

Living  
  
Author's notes: Here's some more. Now, for all three people who read this, I have a question- would you prefer that I keep this in some sort of chronological order, or would you rather I skipped around in the timeline? It would be much less confusing in the former, but I've written a great deal that can't be put up yet because it is all out of order. Let me know, okay? Now, this here's just a shortie, because I have to go to class, but I hope everyone likes it, and I promise to get into the story soon. I am just waiting for a friend to return my copy of OOTP. Oh, yes. I still don't own them.  
  
We have got to get out of here. in our darkest hour, I see the end is near.  
~Phantom Planet  
  
****sorry.****  
  
Percy was an accident. He had been informed of this fact at the age of three by Charlie. At the time he had no idea what Charlie meant, but over the years, as he began to understand the implications, it haunted him with a sort of guilt. He was an accident.  
When Voldemort's real reign began, Bill was not quite two, and Charlie had just edged over one. Molly Weasley, a young mother with two toddlers and a husband who'd just joined the Ministry, decided quite firmly that she was not bringing and more children into a world that looked very much as though it would not be around much longer.  
The thing most people forget is that Voldemort had been around for a very long time. That in itself really explains his seeming rocket to power- an overnight sensation is rarely so overnight as it appears. For decades, the cynical, jaded, and power hungry had gravitated toward the powerful figure. With him they plotted a campaign for domination of the wizarding world. The loyalty of these followers, these "Death Eaters," was such that people outside of the inner circles could barely comprehend. It was a loyalty that did not spring up quickly, but had been fostered for a great deal of time, even while the select few had been in school.  
A fairly wise (though not particularly intelligent) wizard once said that there wasn't a witch or wizard who'd gone bad who hadn't been in Slytherin house. It is more or less true, although there is far more to it than the simple personality preferences of Salazar Slytherin. But a fair number of those personality traits had surfaced in one Percival Weasley, and had resulted in a recommendation to Slytherin house by the Sorting Hat. He did not want to be a problem yet again, so he begged to be sent to the same house as his brothers.  
But the hat had been quite firm, only relenting after a few moments of torment. Percy thought about those moments very often. The thought that he may have been an even greater enemy to his brothers than he already was- it was terrible. But not as terrible as the knowledge that he had been an accident.  
Molly Weasley had decided not to have any more children. But eight years later, Percy appeared. And nothing could explain why she had continued having children, five after him. Perhaps she was defying Voldemort in her own way, by rebelliously having a family despite the war. But most of the time, Percy had the distinct impression that it was because he was a bloody disappointment, and she was trying to make up for him.  
  
He was sorry. 

~~~~  
  
More notes! Okay, I just had to point out that while it has very little to do with the story, does anyone else find it a little strange that Hagrid says that about the bad wizards all being from Slytherin, and yet he totally believes that Sirius Black went evil? It would be wicked cool if Sirius had been a Slytherin- besides, he was genetically disposed toward it. I'm just sayin'…


	4. paladin

Living

Author's notes: I've been trying to get back into this school thing, which is, in a way, a bit of explanation as to why this is so long in coming. I would also like to take this time to apologize for the brevity of this installment. But, there you go. It's been difficult to extract this story from Percy, as he is constantly complaining that the ropes chafe and the duck-tape leaves an odd taste in his mouth. And, against all evidence to the contrary, he holds that I do not own him. Ah well.

You're going to reap just what you sow…

~Lou Reed

****paladin.****

Percy became a prefect in his fifth year. The twins had taunted him nonstop since he'd received the small badge, teasing him about his 'stellar rise to power.' Percy tried not to care. He hadn't lobbied to become a prefect, each was simply chosen by the headmaster, but he _had_ hoped for it. Bill and Charlie had both been prefects in their time, and Percy saw the joy it brought his mother. He was pleased too- not for the position of power, as the twins so viciously suggested, but for the responsibility. It gave him a chance to care for the younger students, to be a reliable surrogate big brother for them. To protect them. It was a responsibility he'd lost with his own family. The twins, of course, rejected him outright. Ginny was safe at home with mum. And Ron… Well, Ron had Harry, and the twins, and he didn't really need Percy at all.

Harry was something of a surprise, really. He could remember, with easy clarity, the day the Dark Lord had fallen. He knew tales of the boy, both true and exaggerated. He'd even studied him a bit in the previous year's Defence Against the Dark Arts class. But nowhere, in any of the myth and lore surrounding the boy, was there any indication that he would be so small. He was pale and frail and delicate in a way that reminded Percy rather unpleasantly of the days before, of dark rooms and furtive conversations that contained words he didn't understand. Percy had never expected to feel a sympathetic affinity for the boy. But there it was- he'd recognized him with no introduction, that first day at King's Crossing. He knew that he had to protect the boy. He'd given him a small smile, willing him to stop looking so apprehensive. The boy did not notice. 

After that he'd hugged his mother and gone quietly to the prefect's car to sit with the people who did not know him or did not care about him. He was glad then for Hermes, his beautiful owl. Hermes was a present from his mum, in congratulations for becoming a prefect. Percy loved him almost violently- he was everything Percy was not. Graceful, sleek, admired by everyone who saw him. Percy wished for a fleeting moment that he were an owl.

****

Percy sighed and pressed his face against the cool glass window of the muggle bus. He _was_ only trying to protect them. But then, they'd never understood before, had only rejected him. He supposed it was foolish to think that anything would be different now.

~~~~

So. Was it all you were hoping for? No? Too bad. The story really does start soon. Or maybe the whole mess will be a brooding, introspective diatribe on the brutality of basic human nature and its ravaging effects on a sensitive soul. Either way. 


	5. crumble

Living

Author's notes: I hope you read these- They're not too long and they do have some relevance… Anyway, I would like to take a moment to explain that I have avoided most HP fics, and ALL Percy-centric fics, for many months now- since before book 5. I've always identified with Percy, and while reading OoTP came up with this story- it pretty much formed itself around two focal scenes I wanted to write. One will be up next, the other may have to wait a bit. But I would like to point out that any similarities between this story and any other current ones are completely coincidental. I know that some of this has been used before, but… well, I suppose I can explain better after the chapter… Percy says he doesn't like my dorm room because it is too cold. I agree. We've come to an arrangement about the ownership issue- I don't own any of it, but Percy says we can be friends.

you fell into our arms

you fell into our arms

we tried, but there was nothing we could do…

~radiohead

~~~~crumble~~~~

People died, of course. People died every day. Most of the children he knew had disappeared, quite suddenly, and in retrospect he knew that they'd gone farther than France or America or any of the other fantastical place his mum'd told him stories of. Hell, he'd known even then, a cold certainty that they were gone. Still, he'd never expected David to go.

Bill's departure from the Weasley house was a great blow. Charlie spent all of his time tending a small, slightly illegal swamp 'dragon' (little more than a chain-smoking lizard, truth be told) that Arthur had given him. That left Percy alone with his mum and the newborn triplets. Fred, George, and David were peaceful babies, but the strain of caring for all three was wearing Molly down. One was often passed to Percy to care for, and he held all three in a sort of reverence. As they grew older, they proved their initial dispositions a joke- no longer peaceful, they were boundlessly joyful, full of energy, and for they became Percy's world when Charlie left for Hogwarts.

And in time, of course, Ron was born, and again Molly had too much on her hands. At four, Percy was left almost completely to care for the three little troublemakers. He'd always been an exceedingly responsible child, and now that the boys could walk and talk, sort of, they were relatively easy to care for. Percy became fiercely possessive of them, and devised any number of games to play- creeping under the dusty furniture to look for lost treasure, making shadow monsters on the wall, and telling them the most elaborate stories his young mind could create.

This time Percy recognized the signs himself- again, mum? Still busy with little Ron and now another on the way. He didn't really see the point, when she had five perfectly good children at home with her, but then, he was secretly quite anxious for a sister.

And then, the unimaginable happened. Voldemort was defeated. By a child, of all things- scarcely Ron's age, no more than a toddler. After almost a week of quiet, excited tension, the confirmation came through. He was gone. They could go home. His father could come home.

The Burrow. Percy'd heard of it, fond stories from his mum and older brothers. And his father would be able to live with them, rather than hurried, secretive visits. Best of all- they would be allowed outdoors! The triplets were ecstatic, and proceeded to spend as much time outdoors as they possibly could. And all four of the boys discovered the greatest joy in all the wizarding world- broomsticks. 

This, Percy loved most of all- it was a freedom unlike anything he'd ever known, and he was surprisingly good at it. Charlie, now in his second year at Hogwarts, had made the Gryffindor quidditch team, and the triplets, on their tiny toy brooms, were showing unmistakable signs of great talent. Percy, however, had little interest in the sport beyond playing with his brothers. He simply loved spiraling into the sky, pushing the broom and himself to the limit. 

And in this most joyous time, it happened. David simply stopped. The boys were outside, the triplets playing at being dragons, Percy high above, lost in flight. He was brought back to reality by George and Fred's frantic screams- David wouldn't get up. Percy dropped straight to the ground and bolted to the boys. He was playing dead, they said. We thought he was playing, but he won't get up. He'd been unconscious for more than ten minutes. 

Nobody could explain it, nobody could give any reason. He lay in a sterile bed in St. Mungo's, with the best Mediwizards in the world around him at all times. In the end, it didn't matter. David Weasley died just short of his third birthday.

Bill and Charlie were terribly sad, but they hardly knew the child. Molly and Arthur were deeply grieved, but had to go on- they still had four very young children to look after. Fred and George clung to each other desperately, and Percy was left alone in his anguish.

The triplets became the twins. They didn't remember him now, Percy knew they didn't. They had a vague feeling that something was missing, but they had no idea what they'd lost. But they'd seen Percy, crying, blaming himself. "It's my fault." They didn't remember. But years afterward, they still unconsciously condemned him, resented him. But they could never hate him as much as he hated himself.

****

Percy never resented his family's poverty, never. He didn't begrudge David a single second that the Weasley family fortune had bought. He wished, sometimes, that he could explain it all to Ron and Ginny, at least. It hurt them to be so poor, buit he knew they'd understand. Blinking against the tears he could feel building in his eyes, he could see that this was his stop. He may never get the chance to explain, to apologize. Perhaps this _was_ his apology. He sighed deeply as he stepped into the hidden entry of the Ministry of Magic.

~~~~

Feet first into the story. I did promise I would start the story, eventually. Anyway, I have been dead convinced, since book one, that Ron HAS to be a seventh son. Has to. So, that means a missing brother. I know it's been done, but damnit, I'm doing it again. RON IS A SEVENTH SON! Besides, Percy's neuroses need a solid root. The next chapter, for anyone who cares, will be wildly out of sequence and will feature everyone's favorite dead guy, Sirius Black. Try to hold the excitement in.


End file.
